


Return from Reichenbach

by ancalime8301



Series: Spencer Stories [22]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Cats, Community: hc_bingo, Community: watsons_woes, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 15:19:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1987815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancalime8301/pseuds/ancalime8301
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson returns home, alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Return from Reichenbach

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [watsons_woes](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/) JWP day 19 [prompt](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/1140533.html): _Whump whump whump, yeah yeah yeah: Let's get back to our roots today, shall we? Whump Watson. Whump him well._ (But, y'know, I had to end it on a positive note...)  
>  Also fills my hc_bingo square, "grief"

I barely remember the days between losing Holmes at the Falls and returning to Baker Street. I know I wanted to leave for London immediately upon returning to the Englischer Hof, but Herr Steiler persuaded me I needed to rest before embarking on the journey. The next day I was delayed by police enquiries, so I did not depart until the sixth of May.

I do remember making sure to telegram Mrs. Hudson, but the rest of the trip from Switzerland, across France, and back to England was a blur. I was met at Victoria Station by a brougham bearing Mycroft Holmes, though he did not try to engage me in conversation.

He disembarked first when we arrived at the familiar door, and a crowd of newspapermen immediately surrounded him. He spoke a few words to them, and by the time I slowly gained my feet, collected my carpet-bag and Holmes', and carefully stepped down from the carriage, the crowd had dispersed.

Mrs. Hudson threw open the door before I reached it, and Spencer led me up the stairs to the rooms. While it was a relief to be back in familiar surroundings, Holmes' conspicuous absence and the second bag in my hand were painful reminders of what had happened only a few short days before.

I dropped the carpet-bags just inside the door and stumbled over to the settee, where I sat, my elbows on my knees and my hands over my face. Spencer's front paws rested on my knees and he sniffed at my hands until I moved them and he could sniff at my face instead. He mewed and licked my face; only then did I realize I had begun to weep.

Spencer sat back on his haunches and meowed that loud, lost-sounding cry that he usually did when we were in another room and he was trying to find us. Then he jumped up onto my lap and set his paws on my shoulders, his head tucked up under my chin. I sat back and ran my hands over his sleek coat, heedless of the tears running down my cheeks, certain that he recognized our loss and was trying to comfort me in his own wordless way.

Mrs. Hudson was a treasure in the days that followed, her sympathetic presence an immeasurable comfort as I tried to adjust to the idea of being without Holmes in rooms that seemed much too large for one person. Spencer, too, was invaluable. He never let me out of his sight; even when I tried to leave him for Holmes' memorial service, he managed to slink into the church amongst the crowd. I did not see him during the service, but as I left he trotted out beside me and I almost had to laugh at his determination.

In the days afterward, I fear I suffered a nervous collapse and was prostrate for a full week, suffering from both the shock of what I had experienced and the physical strain of That Day and the lack of sleep or proper meals during my journey home. Mrs. Hudson was a dear and did what she could, but I insisted she summon a nurse to help with my care so the burden would not be hers alone. She, too, grieved the loss of Holmes.

When I was about a fortnight into my recovery, well enough that the nurse was no longer needed and I could venture outdoors for a brief constitutional each afternoon, Mycroft sent word that his brother's assets were available to me, should I have need of them. I was startled by his generosity and, while my thoughts immediately turned to obtaining a practice of my own, I was not certain I could use Holmes' money for that purpose in good conscience.

The next day Lestrade came to see me, both to give me his sympathies and to make a professional request: the Yard found itself in need of occasional help with death investigations and, given my expertise, he wondered if I might like to throw my hat in the ring, as it were. The idea intrigued me, and I promised him I would give it serious thought. That seemed to satisfy him, and he bade me a good day.

While I knew all along that I would be able to manage without Holmes--though losing him was a pain that would haunt me for years to come--having multiple opportunities in which to make use of my skills and my time was heartening indeed.


End file.
